Last End
by Araceli L
Summary: Darkness, trouble, fear, and agony are spreading over the land, as irresistable as time. There is no such thing as a hero, so who will rise to defeat it? A Smash Brothers saga. T for gore and violence. Man, are my stories getting dark or what?
1. Beginning

A/N: **Yay, here I am again, starting yet _another _multi-chapter fic I probably won't finish. Well, this one's different, and here's why: I need to challenge myself, and this saga will serve as that. So, I'm sorry if anything turns out wrong. Also, yes, this is a Smash Brothers fic, despite this first chapter. Just read it, and enjoy it! :D thanks much.**

**Last End**

Trouble is brewing in the distant mountains, but it is only I who can sense it.

Fear is building among worthless cowards, and rebellion is rising in the hearts of the heroes.

People are rushing, hasty and hurried, away from everything they've decided, worked for, and hoped, because they are afraid.

This place needs a hero more than ever – and it is only I who can sense it.

Don't misunderstand me: it is only I who can sense _it._ The suffering that shall soon come is tangible in the air – but only I can sense _it._

Lands are shrinking away, their inhabitants afraid and foolish. The sea seems to bow before _it_ in surrender and the sky is helpless. The mountains are small compared to _it's _great might, and the heroes are starting to rethink as time wears on.

_Time _– it's a funny thing, isn't it? One day we are gazing, awe-struck, at the person before our eyes – and the next, we are laughing over their slayed corpse. Blood can be so…_delicious._

Irresistible as time is, it is also irritating. _It _cannot plan out everything in a day – and a day cannot be planned. Complete dominance over time…that, _that _is _it's _idea. The Master of Time. To whom would _it _have to bow, then? The seas can continue to plead to _it _for mercy, the heroes can be in agony, the worthless can be slaughtered. 'Tis the only way.

Only I can sense _it. Its _power reigns like a light, or perhaps like dark. Light has no appeal to _it._ Light, the awful blindness of it, has no appeal in any form: a lantern, the dawn, a hero. People are meant to be tortured, blood is meant to be shed, and lives are meant to be broken. They serve no further purpose, yes?

_Time _– it is so…_entrancing, _yes, that is the word I would use. Enchanting and precious. It spreads across the land as effortlessly as the dark, because people have no light in their hearts. Their hearts are shunning and cold, and no matter how many pretty lies are written across their lips, they will never be light. No one can be light. Dark reigns over all.

Time and darkness – sweet, so satisfying in its succulent sound. It rings, delightful and true, because nobody can change time and nobody can stop the dark. Yes, yes the darkness is coming on like an embrace, an ensnarement: it cannot be denied, and eventually they will stop trying. No one can resist the dark, just as no one can resist time.

It is interesting, however, to watch the people that do try. It is amusing, to be sure, but even more enjoyable is to toy with these 'heroes'. _It _laughs at their petty attempts, because in the end, _it _knows they will be _it's._ _It _is irresistible, just like darkness and time.

Irresistible things – that is, undeniable, inevitable, unavoidable – must come to pass, to follow through, or to take hold. That is the meaning of the world. Time cannot be misplaced, set aside, or stopped; this is the same for darkness. And what about the embodiment of these things, hmm? What about _it_? _It _powers on darkness and time, because _it _is the Master of these things.

Only I can sense _it._

Perhaps the people are trying – and that is the funny thing. _It _loves watching them through their endeavors, these 'heroes'. No one has stood against _it_ – everyone that tries, dies. It is a simple, fact of life, but the blood tastes so _sweet_…

Will a new hero rise against _it_? Who can be sure? Time will tell, but in the meantime, _it _will enjoy observing these fruitless people and their frigid, selfish souls.

And that is why no hero ever lasts. Every hero who has attempted to fight time, darkness, and _it _falls short of anything, including their lives, and here is the reason: they are fighting their own wants, and none of them could cast away their selfishness. None of them were true heroes, and so, they faltered, and joined _it _or were punished for their defiance.

Heh, heh – how good it felt to be a ruler, to have a right over iconoclasm. The life of one into the power of another – how good the blood feels.

_It _is confident that no new hero will arise – because there is no such thing as a 'hero'. There are people who have done worthy acts, but no one is a true 'hero'. There is no such thing. 'Hero' is a figment of the sad imagination, created as an attempt to believe in hope. There is no such thing.

_It _is confident that time and darkness will ensure _it's _power, that they will ensue, that _it _will be the master of these things.

Only I can sense _it._

Why? Because I am _it._

_

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_

A/n: **REVIEW. Also, ideas are welcomed, if you wish.**


	2. Twilight

_A_/N: **This is NOT after Stephanie Meyer's stupid Twilight, ok? Urg. Stupid. She could've had such cool metaphors with that word but NOOOO. it had to fit in with the rest of the book names. (Please excuse me, Twilight fans.) Anyway I hope you enjoy! (I can't believe I'm actually updating this fast...)**

_Last End Chapter 2: _Twilight

_And you never believed me._

A sullen man watched, lonely, as twilight descended upon the ravaged land, tempting and threatening and terrible. Ravishingly it bellowed as it spread its hungry arms to the wide-open, desolate plains, mad and haunting. Sweetly it cocked its eyebrow, deceivingly pushing the Sun away, as though it were foolish, then swooping in to devour its prey when their backs were stabbed.

Twilight is the moment before the darkness destroys the land.

The young adult clenched his fists, the golden glow of the furious sight that was overtaking the land illuminant in the cold, airless, and forgotten room. No one remembered him here. He was nothing but a legend now.

And now there was no hero to free the land – there was no hero for this place to call its own. People tried to say what they would – he could hear their screams from his cell – but whoever did not acknowledge the forthcoming doom was already dead.

And those that welcomed it with open arms were not the ones to be expected.

The man struggled, livid, against the chains that bound his once-sacrificing palms, the very fingers and nerves and instincts he had used to save the very people that had prisoned him here.

Couldn't they see? Could they not see _anything?_

An enraged roar burst forth from his parched lips, searing the motionless cell, but the only person to hear was his shadow, and the only consultation was his echo. He was blatantly alone, and there was no one to save him – and all he wanted was to save _them._

But instead they'd beat him, tortured him for all he knew, and shackled his blood-shedding palms to the blood-stained wall. For days he'd struggled and bellowed and resisted to the harsh methods inflicted upon him to keep him talking – but no whip, sword, or threat could break him. He was as emotionally and mentally strong as his body was; he was as strong as a man can be; but eventually, the body must cave in. The mind is no exception.

After extracting the last of his secrets, they'd forced him into a different cell. Of course, battered and bruised and shaking with fury as he was, he'd tried to make an escape for it – and almost gotten free. He'd been so close to his liberation he could taste it – and as they had dragged him past the iron doors, he'd broken. Admiringly he'd managed to break free from his imprisoners, taking the time to actually leave one unconscious, but the second he'd raced over the line – he was bizarrely reminded of the races he had participated in as a child – pulsating pain had drenched his body, ripped him in half, split him own the middle and solidified his lungs. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, he couldn't live…he was _nothing._

They next thing he'd known, he'd woken up in this cell, and every part of his body was blue and black or bloody. The awfully sweet, horribly familiar taste, was lining his swollen tongue, and he could not spit it out. His left blue eye throbbed and twitched erratically as blood gently coated the lashes, but he could not smear away his scars, for his hands were far above his head. As he realized this, the undersides of his arms beat painfully, tired and weak. Wistfully, and maybe a little wryly, he recalled the days when a chain such as this would have proved more fragile than a strand of straw.

But now his superhuman strength was diminished, beaten out of him, and for what?

His heart, already sunken and incredibly despairing, plummeted.

_They knew._

Of course they bloody knew! What to do, what to do – he'd have to inform the others. But how could he bear to face them? He couldn't – would they understand? He'd have to! He couldn't simply leave them to the mercy of –

And then it struck him. He couldn't _do _anything. He was a prisoner.

And he was captive by the very people he had freed.

And they were controlled by his best friend.

His once-brave head slowly thudded to his chest. There was nothing he could do. There was nothing to do. Twilight was taking over, and soon following it would be the darkness. He had heard these words himself, before all of _this _had happened to him, before he'd been caught.

Oh, how he wished they had killed him then! Why had they not stuck him down, ripped off his shamed head, feasted over his bloody carcass and cracked the bones for the pleasure of the marrow? Succumbing like a coward would have been better than facing the rest of them, with the knowledge that it had been _his _fault they would be found out.

They would be found out.

At the thought of every last one of them, from the gifted, excited young children to the beauty, strength, and blessed wisdom of the women and the courageous hearts of the men, fighting for their freedom, he screamed.

His pure, raw, unadulterated wrath was tangible, livid, frenzied and so cuttingly vengeful; anyone whom had heard it would have grown anxious for their lives. His roar didn't beg for revenge; it promised rebellion, revolution, and punishment. Revenge would be obtained, settled, and scored, and there was nothing anyone could do to change that.

Despite the fact that he himself could do nothing, he swore to himself that this would be true. He would fight for them, for every last one of them, no matter what; even on his last breath.

Twilight was taking over the land, and darkness follows twilight.

The sun was setting on this hero's final hours.

And then the darkness arrivied.

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A/N: Yay! I'm super excited about this story, I've been zon**ing about it all during school. A VERY Hearty and Warm thank you toooooo: JSparks, Lovingyourillusion, ChaoticXXHearts, Smash Seed Reborn, and Anyone. I'm sorry I can't indivudially say something to you. (My parents are out of town for a week, I'm finding it hard to write and squeeze in replys while I stay at a friend's house.) Please excuse any grammar and stupid errors, I just wrote this up. So. Thank you, and I hope you enjoyed! :D REVIEW!**

**~ClumsyHeart17**


	3. Anger

A/N: **Imma apologize in advance for the complete *crappiness/suckishness* of this chapter compared to the last one. I'm sorry. I know it sucks. I hope you enjoy anyway.**

_Last End Chapter 3: Anger_

Anger is such great leverage, is it not?

The blue-eyed girl gently wound her finger through his shaggy golden hair, too long and tangled as it hung over his sleeping, peaceful face.

Anger, and rage, at that, work in a triangle. They (or it) is three things, all in one: a foe, an ally, and simply neutral.

Pushing herself off her arms, the young woman hastily rubbed her elbows, cleansing them of the dirt the floor had brushed upon her, marring her once-snow white arms.

Anger is a foe because it is something people all strive to avoid. Unexpected things happen when one is angry: things that one never meant to say can come boiling out, stinging like a whip; words that somebody only designed to wound can be split; unconscious acts can be committed, only to be regretted and irreversible in the next bounding heartbeat.

The graceful girl took one last look at his serene face, wishing, more than anything, to stay where she was: content and glowing, at peace and wise, and all because she was in her hero's presence.

But duty calls.

The next line of the triangle is that anger is an ally. Fury, when building and pounding inside of a soul, is uncontainable and inevitable. It thunders at the heart like a heat wave, an ever-increasing symphony of incoherent sounds and vengeful sights; and, though perhaps remorseful later, it gives the body the strength to fight on and forget consequences. Maybe in the end they are horrified at their acts, but a note of grim satisfaction can always rise vainly between the shrieks of the killed: the mission was a success.

Now the wise young woman drifted slowly, reluctantly away from his resting figure, longing dangerously to turn back. But she could not. She knew her place, and she also knew the way he felt about her; and it could never be.

Sighing, the girl passed a blanched hand over her cerulean orbs, locking her eyes swiftly shut. In there, she had created her own world of _maybe_, and she was free.

But that is not the truth. And the truth is inevitable. It is as irresistible as darkness and time.

Tossing a lock of auburn hair over her shoulder, the girl glanced back. The second she glimpsed his now-restless tossing, she was at his side in a second.

She hadn't meant to get upset with him, especially when –

A quiet groan escaped his lips, pained, difficult, and uneasy. He shifted fragilely onto his side, unknowing, and that was when a cry broke from his throat. Dropping abruptly back to the mat on the floor, the man trembled and gasped.

Especially when he was this close to dying.

She was at his side in an instant, forgetting to undo the maid's apron around her waist, forgetting the elders probably watching, including her father. He was hurt, and he needed help. It was as simple as that.

Quickly she smoothed the hair off of his lined forehead, scrunched in agony, and she whispered soothingly to him as he released another shout. "_It's alright, everything's ok, you are going to be fine. It's alright. Trust me."_

His eyes still were not open, and she could not bear it. But she returned her attention to the gaping, bloody hole in his side, where his life's precious hourglass was seeping out. Rapidly she unwound the bandages from his muscular side, ripping them off with surprising care. But as her innocent fingers began to become horribly stained with the terrifying sight of his blood, she forced herself to back away: she needed to inspect the dreadful wound.

When he'd first come, limping and nearing eternal unconsciousness, Zelda had been the first to whom they'd spoken to, asking hurriedly for her help, though they needn't have. But she was unknowing in the ways of this, and, in the passing of her mentor Medli, she'd had to improvise in his healing. Perhaps this was a bad time to be creating things in her head, without any real idea of what to do, but there was no other way. Link needed to be saved.

And amazingly, her power from the goddesses did not fail her. Before her wide eyes, Link's wound had closed, the skin sealing over the large tear, the raw strips of flesh lacing themselves together again with the ease of the tide. A stunned silence had spread over the room, the elders awed and rather astounded, until little Lucas had exclaimed, "Thank you, Zelda! Your power is great!" and fled the room, giggling with glee and full-to-bursting of the new talent of his and the rest of the little ones' watcher.

The elders had been a bit more solemn, but also quite a lot more astonished. Taking a step forward, one hand poised in a questioning gesture above his brown hair, the one simply known as Snake inquired, "And, is he alright, Zelda? Will he be able after this?"

"Ah – um, I'm not quite sure, begging your pardon, Master Snake. If I had any idea I would reveal it now; unfortunately I'm at a loss. Though, the look of the wound is much better, so I would say, if things are really as they seem, that he will be alright in a couple of days of rest. Until then—"

"He is useless to us," another said, scratching his head with a shrug. The rest agreed in murmurs, such as "Perhaps we can see where his partner went to…"; unconcerned, they turned to return to their pointless council. Although one did glance to see the young woman tenderly stroking Link's hand, which she had taken shyly, and his heart was troubled at the sight.

But that had been long ago. Now she was frantically scrambling to assess the problem of the sudden outburst of blood; though it was not as much of a problem as it was the healing. She needed, and quickly, to repair the skin around the wound, which had suddenly broken open to tip the whole of his body's energy onto the hungry, unclean ground. She hadn't fixed this? What was she to do?

Earlier the man whom had observed as she gazed upon the hero lovingly had called out to her. "You cannot love him, you know."

Fury had poured copiously into her heart, such as his blood did upon her jumbling fingers now. "And why not?" she had asked, sarcastically, without looking up. She knew that voice as well as her own, and she hated it as much as her own.

He ignored the rhetorical question. "And perhaps you won't be able to ask for his forgiveness, either."

Her heart sank at this, drowned in shock and rage, but as she jumped off the stool to leap at the man, he had already vanished. Her heartbeat was confused and unstable to her unresponsive mind; she was lost in the memories of even _earlier, _when Link had staggered in. Incensed, she had bellowed at him for rushing off in the middle of the night, in secret and stupidity; his lips had moved, but his shallow voice was punished in her burning anger. Had he known what worry he had put her through? How he had endangered them all?

As she had stormed off, he'd collapsed, but she hadn't seen it, and that was when the elders had arrived, alert and cautious.

But then, after the lone elder had taunted her, she'd entertained the idea of jolting after him and yelling for answers, but she knew that would solve nothing. But with the first side of the triangle complete, we need the second side, yes?

_Now _the woman tried to call up everything her eagle-type teacher has instructed, but in the intense anxiety and heat of his blood, all her thoughts were lost. Except one seemed to surface in her mind, and she called it forth now, praying to whatever goddesses above that were listening: "_Sano!"_

The drenched skin rewove itself under her command, and a relieved sound rolled off her tongue. With much unspoken thanks, a grateful sigh was breathed from his living lips, and she smiled in slight satisfaction: he was alive.

"He was always weak. A shame, I say, to have him here."

She knew she shouldn't. She knew it was wrong. She knew it was foolish. She knew it wouldn't solve anything.

But sometimes you have to forget what you know and just remember what you feel.

So she spun around wickedly, and her breath would have been fire, had that been possible; her teeth were bared, her arms were spread, and she leaped into the air, an inhuman-like roar cast from her lips; she brought the disrespectful one to the ground, where he was seized in the utmost, utter fear under her enraged feet; she gripped onto his collar and yanked his face to hers, her eyes unrecognizable, her knuckles white as her hand clenched into a fist, save for one finger pointing cruelly at his neck.

"Away from me, witch!" he screeched, but she disregarded this and spit,

"DON'T – EVER – SAY – SUCH – A – THING." Each word had a separate drive and threat behind them, and at the look of terror in his eyes, she shoved him to the ground, where he scuttled up and charged away, glancing backwards hurriedly and fearfully.

Zelda slowly straightened from her tensed position, slightly satisfied, though her heart felt awfully heavy and guilty.

And so, anger can also be our ally: look how it had helped her protect the one she loved!

But she awfully ashamed of doing so.

Link had never said he wanted her to protect him; he didn't ever say he needed protecting; in fact, he had never implied, even, that he felt anything for her. So what was she doing, leading this pathetic infatuation with a hero from whom she could never receive love?

And the third side of the triangle, completing the three forms of anger, is neutrality. So anger, or rather, the lack of, can lead us feeling abruptly fallen and down. It can tear us apart when it's not there, when it is nothing, because it generously leaves one with the feelings of regret and remorse, longing to change something of the past.

And so the pyramid is complete, in all three ways, but when the triangle is finished, something must be enclosed inside of the burning snare.

And that, my friends, is leverage. Any side of the triangle can finish the shape, or cycle, and with anger, through anger, _anything _can be accomplished.

And that is what I intend to do.

A/N: **And, though creepy OOC-ness, my point is clear (maybe): Anger can change a person. Completely, absolutely, and so swiftly it happens in a blink. But anyway, yay, the first chapter where real characters are introduced! Hehe, for some reason the idea of Snake being a nerd, with intellectual sounding sentences, so he will pop-up in a few chapters with glasses. Don't worry, he'll still be totally B.A. Also, a few hints were given as to people whom are NOT "it". But also a few went unnamed. So have fun guessing, readers!**

**Thanks tooooooo: JSparks! Haha, I meant to say, I LOVED your second chapter of "Calling All Forks!". It made me LOL. So. Congrats! Also thanks to Anyone! Well, I'm glad you're watching me, lol. I hope I don't disappoint!**

**C'mon, guys, 2 reviews after 5 for the first chapter? You can do better than that!**

**Thanks for reading, please review!**


	4. Prophecy

**A/N: Yay, I updated! Sorry to those of you who thought I was dead. I feel bad. Anyway, I apologize earnestly for my sucky poetry skills. It was never my forte. **

Last End: _**Prophecy**_

_The world is sinking; the world is falling;  
__The world is fading and the hour's calling;  
__Upon us it comes as swift as a knife  
__And death shall be sweeter than strife._

The brown-haired man shuddered quietly, something he never dared do in front of his fellows. They respected him as a brave, courageous, and heroic man, and indeed he was. Yet how could he be considered heroic if he was frightened of a simple passage in a story?

Straightening his horn-rimmed glasses, the espionage agent sighed.

He was not a man stacked with lies; he honored himself with the truth, even if the truth was too hard to bear, even for him. If one lies to oneself, what does one gain?

Nothing. And Snake knew this. And he could not lie to himself any longer.

As much as he and all the other innocents longed to believe it, the excerpt was not a simple stanza of rhyming words. Oh, good heavens, what child's book would include such a dark secret? Especially a dark secret only he and a few, seldom others could interpret.

It was a prophecy.

Well, granted, it was easy enough to understand; but do not underestimate the Master's knowledge. It had to do with dates, the number of syllables and letters and lines in the story, which line number coordinated with which letter to form a new sentence then taking that sentence to create a new one out of the page number and then adding by the date, but that was unimportant. What was pressing was that the dates lined up – uncannily, in fact – with the present age.

Pushing up his glasses, Snake rubbed the tip of his nose. His boots slapped gently on the cold stone floor as he stepped over to the treasured wooden table in the center of the library. A "hmm" escaped his mouth as he glanced around, suspicious. It was a thing of his; the Master always seemed slightly paranoid.

He didn't notice me watching him.

_The world is sinking._

That line was, actually, the hardest to follow. Mustering his extremely high intellect, Snake recalled what he had learned of prophecy journals written at the time this one had been penned. Writings and scrolls had been extremely precise; a time when metaphors had been virtually non-existent.

_The world is sinking._

The chocolate-stubble spy gave up with a sigh, having done quite a lot of thinking in a short space of time. His mind was a whirlwind as he flipped through, just to double check, the things he had learned in his time. Nope. No recent news had come of anything _sinking._

_The world is falling._

The same was going for this line; nothing their messengers had informed them of consisted of something _falling. _Perhaps they meant great nations, leaders, kingdoms? Something someone had said about the Chozo seemed to travel to the front of his mind, but he knew they were secure. Had Zebes fallen? No…it couldn't be. He (and they) would have heard of it by then.

Snake whipped around, the strip of dark green cloth tied around the top of his head soaring through the air.

No one was there.

Trying to steady his abrupt instincts, the middle-aged man pressed his hard fingertips to his weary temples. No one could go on like this. Had anyone been through what he had; always alone, never to be touched by anyone, mistrusted, misunderstood, unguided and alone, only to kill those closest to him…

He attempted to ignore it, focusing his keen brown eyes on the parched, ancient paper in front of him, but it was difficult to concentrate on the spidery strokes of faded ink.

_The world is fading and the hour's calling._

Could that be translated to anything appearing nowadays? Solid Snake could not comprehend it; worriedly he checked the date at the top of the parchment again, but unless he had erred in his mathematical equations to solve the time the book was referring to, his first conclusion was correct. But how could it be? Nothing, literally or figuratively or metaphorically or whatever could be translated to the present times; and yet the master of disguise had double-checked his triple-checked work. There was no way he could be wrong.

A bit anxiously, he decided once again to ignore the line, and proceeded to the next troubling statements:

_Upon us it shall come as swift as a knife  
__And death shall be sweeter than strife._

And unfortunately, this was clearer than the most terrorizing of the lines. Something would catch them unawares, and they would be longing for death to be put out of their misery. What could _it _be?

Puzzled, and more fearful than he'd like to admit, Solid leaned back into the arms of the wooden chair, pondering and shying from everything he'd digested. They knocked around in his intelligent skull, toying relentlessly with him, teasing him with their hidden meanings. What could it be…?

Suddenly another thought leapt to the forefront of his mind, capturing his attention rather rapidly.

_The world is sinking; the world is falling;  
__The world is fading and the hour's calling.  
__Upon us it shall come as swift as a knife  
__And death shall be sweeter than strife._

Perhaps Link knew what the prophecy spoke of!

As Master Snake bounded out of his chair, he acknowledged that, granted, Link probably wouldn't know as much as he himself knew, so he shouldn't be too excited or expecting. But Link was bound to know _something; _after all, he had been the one whom had secretly slunk out of the safe grounds and into the arms of the enemy, only to return two weeks later with a fatal wound.

As the realization came bouncing to his mind, Snake slowed. _Fatal. _

Yes, Link's wound was fatal, and everyone but Zelda could see it.

Master Solid Snake shrugged and continued onward to the hospital ward, to Link's deathbed.

But there was some hope, and no one but Zelda could see it.

* * *

A/n: **So, we finally see some LEGIT character personality. That was my intention, anyway, to be a bit starkly different from my past few, vague, way 3-person chapters. Though I did include one creepy sentence here, if anyone noticed it :3. Don't worry, if any of you actually liked that view; It'll be returning, because I've grown rather fond of it. Figure out what you can from that, and also about Snake's personality here. Oh and I did a lot of research on his games, as well as a few more characters that shall be entering, but it was REALLY hard to follow Snake's storyline, so I apologize (for this and in advance) for any mistakes.**

**REVIEW! Thanks soooooo much too: JSparks! Why are you always the first I say thanks to? Oh yes, I enjoyed that very much!:D To Lovingyourillusion, I'm glad you enjoyed my creeper character's point of view, because I had a lot of fun writing it! I'm sorry about my redundancy and please slap me if I've done it again(: To ChaoticXXHearts, why, thank you! Actually, you just gave me quite an interesting idea. I already had a really big twist on this whole story, to be revealed soon, but I think you may have driven that somewhere else...we'll see what comes to me randomly at 1:35 in the morning. Thanks! and to Anyone: Awww, you are wayyyy too nice! I'm glad you like the character portayals and my work. Thank you so much! :D :D**

**And to all: I'm super thrilled you all like the OOC-ness of Zelda's sudden rage, because I was a bit worried it was TOO OOC. And as for Link being the "hero"...well, I can't give anything away, but in my own mind...ack! I can't say. Tell me why you think he's the hero. As mentioned above, he's on his deathbed with a fatal wound. ...Or is he?**

**Sorry for such long Author's Notes. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Please Review, and suggestions are welcomed, if you wish.**

**~ClumsyHeart17**

**P.S. - I find that listening to "Last End" from Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask is a great way to get the feel I was trying to capture in this fic. **


	5. Legend

A/N: **Um. This chapter gets fluffy. And long. Sorry. It won't stay like that, I promise. Also, I've realized my characters are all OOC. I'll try to stick to their original personalities (I usually never deviate from canon) but some may be explained in time, so bear with me. Oh, and thanks to The Person of Awesomeness for favoriting me and my stories. I hope you review, but thanks anyway!(:**

_Last End Chapter 5:** Legend**_

The sky was getting darker as the woman beheld it, but she reveled in the sun's dying rays. True, she hated to watch as the horrid moon traversed into it's beaming, glowing splendor, but the sight of the small town hidden in the hills in the sunset felt so natural, she needed to keep seeing it. It reminded her, perhaps too strongly, of the place she had called home that she'd been forced to leave behind, and while the homely little town sealed up some of the longing cracks, it managed to break them apart at the same time.

A gentle wind broke over the land, catching a few crows by surprise. The grass scattered all around her, shimmying and hurrying as the sun threatened to disappear; and in the next second, it was gone.

The temperature change was abrupt and abnormal, but by now, the warrioress had adapted to it. All of the refugees had. The second the moon displayed it's grinning, grotesque face, the air refused to warm, the sun refused to shine, and the once-lively land adopted a somber, desolate plea. None could escape from the moon's unbearable sneer, the way he viciously and hungrily eyed them all, slowly descending closer and closer upon the innocent town and it's people, the simple and useless people that refused to believe it.

It is hard to escape an enemy when it is everywhere.

Shivering in the frozen air, the huntress wrapped her slender arms about herself, rubbing her limbs pointlessly. Hope and warmth were non-existent in this land, and she had but one mission, so she was not to dwell on the hopelessness that surrounded this town.

Yet she could not seem to leave it.

Sighing, the blond woman straightened up from her cross-legged position on the ground. Pulling her flimsy sweater tighter around her, the huntress cleanly strung her bow, propelling it smoothly into the air, and stared down the shaft of the arrow at her target: a simple, innocent bird, without much meat and much use, but it was the best that the night had offered.

Her slim fingers slowly released, one by one, off the end of the arrow –

"Hello."

Instantly the woman went rigid, attempting desperately to place the voice, but she could not seem to. But his breath was tight in her ear, and it was warm, so incredibly warm…

Her shoulder now pimpled with minuscule bumps, she looked over it, her loose hair ratted and knotted, sashaying around her like a wave.

She was suddenly captured in a deep blue eye, the other hidden under shocks of cobalt hair, looking agonized and cautious yet caring…

He didn't look like an enemy. Warily she lowered her bow, her feet still spread in the proper stance, the arrow still ready to the slightest movement of her fingertips. His hand was outstretched towards her, rough and calloused, but his enormous sword was sheathed around his waist.

There was a quiet moment as they observed each other, blond bounty-huntress and tortured, ravished ranger, sizing each other up. He looked weak and beaten, as though he had once been a titan with vast strength, now wearied down to the end of his hope; she appeared as a skilled woman whom had been lost for a very long time.

Finally she released the tension on her bow, and he awkwardly curled back his hand. She looked in his uncovered eye.

"Why are you here?"

He gazed back steadily, though his expression was impassive. "Why are _you _here?"

She appraised him, slightly impressed, more irritated. "Alright, then. My people were collapsing, but no one could see it; after many attempts to persuade them, I realized it was useless, so I fled. Now I roam about." He continued to stare at her, expectant. "That's it," she insisted, finally breaking eye-contact. "Why are you here?" she repeated, though she could not seem to look directly at him.

He shrugged, nonchalant, yet still slightly stoic. "Does it matter? I'm here. And now that I've found somebody in this godforsaken land that hasn't dodged me like the plague – and why, I can't understand – do you think you could spare me for one night?"

Her eyebrows arched above her jade eyes, but involuntarily she glanced toward the moon. He followed her eyes, and as they glimpsed each other again, a knowing look passed between them.

"Cagey," he said, his gaze flickering between her and the falling star, "of the moon, are you? At least you've more sense than the folk here."

Perhaps he couldn't see the internal battle that was she was urgently losing inside herself, or perhaps he was enjoying her struggle. Either way, she was frenziedly trying to make up her mind about this stranger, before darkness covered completely, silent and muffling like a thick blanket.

He knew about the moon; he was not from the town; _he _was asking for help; he looked able, though slightly broken; he had an impressive sword, and the strength to match, by the looks of it; but, that being said, he could easily defeat her and run without a trace.

"You're not from around here, are you?" she asked, scrutinizing him, but now he was observing the tiny town as it prepared to put itself to sleep, oblivious to the looming danger overhead.

"And you're not either."

"No, perhaps not," she admitted, staring at her feet. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, and saw that she was bending down to build a fire. Grateful, he was eager to help, so he earnestly said, "Here, let me."

She backed away, and he struck the rocks she had put into his hands against each other, but the small sparks fizzled out. Frowning, he tried again; a rare, tiny smile formed on her face as she watched him toil. In frustration, after several failed attempts and the growth of her grin, he chucked the stones to the ground, and suddenly a fire blazed up, consuming the shocks of deadened grass fiercely. For a second they both stared at it in astonishment, until he turned to her with a smug look on his face.

"And _that _is why you should always let _me _do things."

"Fine," she agreed reasonably, shocking him slightly. Then she held out her richly carved bow. "Then you make dinner."

* * *

As it turned out, Ike was actually a rather skilled hunter, and so it was later that evening that they were enjoying a small type of feast. Granted, it was nothing more than a few mushrooms (sautéed as well as they could be), some Deku nuts (roasted to perfection), and the grand prize: a nocturnal turkey that Ike had actually tackled, rather than "deigning" to use Samus's bow. But while she'd stood rolling her eyes, he'd leaped and managed to bring down the panicked bird.

Now the fire was crackling gently, warmly and beautifully humming; it created a small bubble of protection from the clawing hands of the dark. It's light was cast over her face, transforming her hair to vivid orange as she watched out over the night. Behind her, her new companion Ike was laying, if he was sleeping at all; he didn't seem the type. He appeared as though he'd been through far too much in his life to ever rest peacefully again.

The flames danced wildly, uncontrolled; and the sudden movement brought forth to her mind her current situation. What was she ever to do…

"Remember," she whispered aloud, for she knew he would listen, "Remember when we were heroes?"

He was beside her now, on the other side of the fire, staring directly at her over the swaying light. She was still gazing into the moon's taunting smile, her lips parted slightly. He was abruptly overwhelmed with the strange desire to place a finger to her mouth, to see if her lips really felt as soft as they looked.

He cleared his mind, still watching her. Ultimately he gave up and stared at the sky, whose once jewel-bright stars were dull and dead compared to the gleaming moon. "Yes," he said, his voice a breath of the wind. "Yes, I do."

"We're just legends now."

"That's all we'll ever be."

"Will we ever be heroes again?"

He looked at her anew, his deep cerulean gaze compassionate. "I think," he said slowly, "not. I think legends were all we were ever meant to be."

Finally she turned her head to him, and her face was heartbreakingly sad. "But…every hero begins from a legend, right?"

"No, darling," he replied gently, hating the crumbling look on her face. It made him want to turn against himself for saying this, anything to stop that rapidly falling spirit. "Every legend begins from a hero."

She jerked her head to the sky again, but not before the fire reflected a sparkle under her glimmering eyes. "Ike…" She breathed in his name, actually addressing him by it for the first time. It caught him far off guard, and he gazed at her over the shimmering fire. Her voice was unsteady as she seemed to plead, "Ike…what…what happens to those heroes…the ones that become legends?"

Ike took a deep breath, unsure how to phrase his answer. He knew Samus's fears, because they were also his own; they were not something he liked to confront, and he spent all of his time trying to avoid them. But now, here, under a falling moon and a woman's, perhaps, very sanity, he knew he would have to pull the truth that had been lurking somewhere in his own heart.

"They stay that way, Samus. They simply fade away until a new one replaces them."

The beautiful woman's bottom, soft lip trembled across the light, and she could not hide or disguise the glinting of tears as they strode down her sorrowful face. Without thinking he picked himself off of the ground, and without remembering that he hadn't met her but an hour and a half ago, he sat beside her and wrapped his strong arms around her.

"Shh, Samus," he murmured, gathering her completely in his embrace; she submitted willingly into his hold, gasping from her tears. "Shh…everything will be alright…"

"How?" she breathed, gazing up at him through her watery, emerald eyes. The raw emotion of fear stood naked in her expression, and it struck him to his very core. He'd only known her for a little while, but it was harrowing to see her so broken and him so helpless.

Gently he rocked her back and forth, slowly and reassuringly. "Because."

A weak, skeptical sound was her only defiance, so he looked down upon her. "You asked what happens to the heroes that become legends."

She simply nodded, though a fresh flow of water streamed down her face. Tenderly he swept one away, but the moment his finger brushed her face, something seemed to click inside of her. It was as if she had been stranded in the sky, alone and useless; now it was as though she were quietly descending back into calmness and serenity.

"Well," he said, his deep, low voice consoling and soothing, "I think you forgot something."

Surprised, Samus glanced up at him. It was then that she abruptly realized that, not had his other eye been covered this whole time by his too-long, shaggy and mussed navy hair, but that he didn't have both eyes.

Her expression must have been an odd one, some weird blend of shock, maybe mortification, and still that present sorrow; suddenly his tone turned wry and he looked at the sky.

"I see you noticed that I'm missing an eye."

Color flooded her cheeks as he spoke dryly. Yet his grip on her didn't loosen, and for that she was unexpectedly grateful.

"I'm s—" she began to stutter, but he merely looked at her.

"No, don't be. It's not like it's your fault or anything, and besides that, how could you have known? I'm pleased I keep it hidden rather well. I don't normally get close to people, you see; they tend to run from me like a hare from a wolf." He was staring blankly into space, and, a little hesitantly, Samus studied his eye – or, lack thereof.

It was just a blank, rather eerie black gap in the front of his head; you couldn't see into it, and there was no blood or gore. It was a clean wound, and it looked as though it'd been intentionally done, cut away gleefully and slowly, relishing every tear of tissue, every snap of vein.

His remaining eye slid down to her staring, and she flushed again; but instead he shrugged. "You can touch it, if that makes you feel more comfortable with it. I have no spared nerves, and I doubt it would hurt anyway."

The blasé way he said this astounded her, but tentatively she ascended her hand and pushed back, timidly, the shrouding locks of thick hair, then dabbed a fingertip at the corner of his lost eye. She was at a loss for words, unsure how to express her sympathy for his injury; yet she knew it wouldn't make a difference, what she said. His eye was gone, either way.

She lowered her fingers, and the flames beside them blasted away the chills that suddenly ravaged her spine. "Did somebody do that to you?"

He sighed, shaking his shocks back into place. The hole was veiled once again, and from far away, it would never be discovered. "Yes. It was torture. They wanted me to tell everything I knew of, but thankfully I had never been let in on the meetings, so I didn't have much to tell. Yet they were convinced I did, when it was actually my partner who knew most of it; for some reason they pinpointed me, and, you can see the result. My partner managed to escape, somehow. Unfortunately we were in different cells, in different sides of the castle, and he never came back for me. I don't blame him…neither would you, had you been there. It was impressive to remain alive, let alone leave."

"You are alive," Samus felt inclined to point out, as though he didn't know it; but it was the way that he spoke about his imprisonment, as though it were his fault or he was guilty.

"Yes, but…" His face fell, and now she had a strong urge to wrap her arms around him. But she remained motionless, trapped in his guilt-ridden story and curiosity.

"I was only alive…" he trailed off, his voice breaking. She looked at him. A dreadfully ashamed expression was devouring his face, swiftly smoothing away any hope of consolation. It looked like a burden he would live with forever, and nothing anyone said or did would lift him of that sin. "I only remained alive…because I_ did _know something…and unfortunately…" There was no tone to his voice now, only a dead ring. "It was what they needed."

The horrendous, demonic moon shone delightedly upon his already-pale face, making him look blanched and famished; it heightened the sense of remorse and agony that were growing there. Samus could only gaze at him mournfully, uncertain how to help or offer heart. She felt terrible about it, especially after he had soothed her so gently.

"Ike…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But…you were under torture. I'm sure your people will understand," she tried desperately, but he just stared miserably at the midnight heavens.

"It doesn't matter." He swiped away the subject with a flick of his voice, and instead he released the beautiful woman in his arms. She reluctantly stepped away from him, though there was nothing she longed for more than to feel his embrace. As they unenthusiastically set watches, thoughts of her fears began to haunt her again, and she needed his touch.

But she could not receive it.

"Lay down," he insisted, smiling sadly over her. "All will be right in the morning."

She just nodded, forcing herself to be steady and secure.

"This too shall pass," he repeated, though it sounded as though he were speaking to himself. "When the morning comes."

_When the morning comes._

"Oh, and Samus," he called quietly, his voice carrying to where she lay, close as she could to the fire (and to him). "I didn't get to explain about earlier."

She lifted her head. "What?"

"Only the greatest heroes become legends."

* * *

A/N: **Hmm. What to say about this chapter...yeah...I didn't mean for it to become such a fluff-fest...sorry about that...but if you were paying attention during Zelda's chapter, then you should be able to understand this one! It's not very clear, but if you squint, you can figure out everything. (Well, granted, not everything; then I wouldn't have a story!) You can figure out why Link is on his deathbed. Buuuuuuuuut anyway. Yay, we see more characters! And a mysterious town and moon. Oh, please don't hate Samus for sounding so weak. I'll explain everything in time! :3 Also, sorry for any redundancy or such. And the creepy perspective MIGHT be returning next chapter. **

**Thank you SOOO much too: JSparks, yes, I really do think it is because you are amazing...I mean, that HAS to it, especially because you bear NO resmeblence to Spune...Oh, thanks for not hating on my poetry skills, hahaha. GASP! You used to hate Link? Oh gosh my life is ruined;) Oh and of course it would be you to spot my hidden line. It's always you! Lovingyourillusion (honestly guys, if you haven't read her story, GO NOW), yes, children's books are sooo f-ed up; Guessworks, aww, thank you so much for reading! That makes me so excited! I'm delighted you like my story so much! Thank you!:D To Anyone, aww, you're wayy too sweet. I'm just doing what I love! I'm glad you like Snake's glasses ;) ChaoticXXHearts, hahaha, well, I think you may have me change the story a bit. Yeah, that whole prophecy - I didn't even mean to write it when I sat down to write about Snake, and come to think of it, now I actually have to follow it. But I already have that figured out. :D "He might not be what the world needs after all." You, I think, have ONCE AGAIN just changed my ideas. As for war, wait, where did you get that? Did I say something like that? (I probably did and forgot.) I can't say too much about that though. Thank you for reviewing, all!**

**Ugh. My Author's Notes keep getting longer and longer. But I have to thank you guys! Oh, and if you're a reader that doesn't review, please do! C'mon, just drop me a line. You'll get your name mentioned...REVIEW, PEOPLE! :) Hope you enjoyed!**


	6. Legacy

A/n: **Warning: this is a LOOOONG chapter. So if you have something important to do, like watch "The Bachelor" like me, then read this later. If not, enjoy!**

_**Last End: **__Legacy_

All things have their time.

There is a time for the sun to rise, proud and bright; there is a time for darkness to cloak, cover, and destroy, vicious and mysterious. There is a time for the sunset, when all hope seems lost. There is a time for the dawn, when hope may just be possible.

There is a time for heroes and a time for villains; there is a time for the innocent and for the moderate. The latter group struggles to decide which way to turn as the stronger forces battle each other.

All these things are in a cycle, following the waxing and waning of the moon. Nothing stays the same, and no one lasts forever.

Once upon a time, there was a hero. He had conquered the land from the people who had overtaken it, and his strategies of justice kept the citizens at peace. Courageously he defended his home, proudly he called it his own, and wisely he ruled it. The evil ones had been vanquished, sent far away where no one could call upon them again.

Or so they thought.

It was a sad day when the king had passed, imprinted in the people's minds. He was their leader, their hope, and their salvation; they didn't know what to do without their savior. But he was never forgotten by his children, and the kingdom reveled still in glory and pride. Not a foe was arrogant enough to threaten them, no force strong enough to attack. It was maintained by the wise ancestors of the great hero of legend, and to him they learned from. It seemed as though there would be no end to a nation as powerful and peaceful as they.

But all things have their time, my dear.

Slowly, something crept up from the ashes. It slunk stealthily around, cloaked in darkness and hidden in the gloom. The twilight was its home and its resting place, gradually gaining power. It kept its plans quiet and undeterred, and so, when the time was right, it struck.

Unprepared, the rulers could not defend themselves. They had been a country so serene for so long the very idea of unrest was impossible. They couldn't understand how this had happened. They couldn't believe their savior had let them down.

The people fell into despair, the land into ruin; dust covered the city streets. Forgiveness, shelter, and love were hard to come by; barely was there a day where the word "joyful" was introduced.

In his iron fist, the usurper ruled his stolen kingdom sadistically, licking his lips of the blood of the citizens. Mountains were bowed in terror before his might, and the seas flickered uneasily. Around them, the land was surrendering, and the rebellions were losing hope. It seemed as if their home would never be their home again.

Far away, in the gentle woods, a young boy was born. He was an intelligent boy, with a simple life, and he enjoyed the simple pleasures. He didn't understand the world outside, sheltered as he was, but he didn't need to. You can never miss what you've never had, and so the world outside he was indifferent too. It was another place entirely, supposedly dangerous, but it did not matter to him. He had no wish to leave his home. The children of the forest were his family, and he was theirs, though he always seemed different…

In reality, the night was only growing darker, the evil king feeding upon the people's terror. It was wrong to show compassion to anybody, they be a foe. Love was forgotten in these days, and the only tangible emotion was fear. The air was thick with it, and hearts were heavy. Slowly the population was dying out, for everybody's anxiety for themselves, and in this, they were actually taking themselves into the grave. And it looked as though the tomb was eternity.

And far away in the grove, the cerulean-eyed youth learned of his destiny. As the words washed over him, he could not comprehend what he was hearing. His life was a lie? The only thing he needed was not what he was destined for? How could this be true? The forest was all he loved. He needn't go out into the world and seek his fate – his home was here.

Yet the wise knew it was not to be. In reality, people were dying. The brave were being tortured, the cowards were being manipulated, and the innocent were being slaughtered; all of this was taking place, and the very one who could halt it was reluctant to do so. How was that just? He asked. The boy couldn't ignore the stinging question, and, dejected, left his one and only home to fulfill the destiny he wanted to forget.

And the young one slunk away into the night, trekking along with his miniature sword tucked into its sheath. An adult's shield hung upon his back, a heavy burden for one so young. A few weapons were rummaged in his pockets and bags, and his only armor was his tunic of forest green.

Though no one knew it at the time, not even he, this boy was a hero. The blood of the courageous pulsed through his veins, and his heart beat with valiance and compassion. He was what the suffering longed for, though no one knew it; he was the hero destined to save the world, though time had not recognized it. Dawn was finally sparking in the far, far distance, barely seeable; and though it was hardly visible, it _was _there, and that in itself is incredible.

This little boy, striding alone through the fields, was the hope of the world, and he held it upon his slender shoulders. He was the new hope.

It wasn't long until the boy was called upon his first task. Swiftly he, with his native blade and unlearned hand, was swarmed by pleas. Bravely he added each and every one of them to his workload, and somehow, he managed to do it. It was then the kingdom realized they had the first hints of a hero within their grasp.

And the boy grew to a man, yet it seemed as though he'd only blinked. Unfortunately, the land was darker than ever before on his seventh year after leaving home, and it was then that he battled his hardest. He bounded through the plains, slaying monsters and protecting the citizens; his valor and strength increased with every task successful, every life saved, every evil destroyed; every swing of his shining sword was a blow to the grand enemy, who awaited him in his cursed lair.

The grand enemy, the evil king from seventeen years before, knew not how to lure the young man into his traps. Oh, how he longed to kill the boy, to smote him and be done with it; but, nevertheless, every ensnarement he threw at him was insufficient. The "hero" seemed to be protected by some kind of enchantment, or spell; the usurper, even after all of his years of power, found his curses to be useless. They fell pathetically at the feet of the warrior, whom almost glowed with a subtle light. It was, you could say, the aura of _goodness_, but the king knew it not. He could not understand anything of love and hope. He only knew hatred and suffering, and that is what he was familiar with. It was all he had ever known.

But the king knew a thing or two about human relationships, and he'd heard of this _love._ It was that confusing, nameless, strange emotions that filled the boy's eyes when he had learned that the Sheikah warrior was actually the princess; it was that same expression that had struck his face when he'd snuck into her courtyard. That was when the wicked warlock had watched that look for the first time, and it was when he only knew a glimpse of it. After years of mind-numbing musing over the unfamiliar expression, he was startled to see it in the boy's eyes when the "hero" gazed dazedly into the princess's striking blue eyes. And that was when the usurper understood it for the first time.

And he used this against the foolish boy. He snatched the princess from the youth's grasp, and his face had turned ghostly pale, angry, and anxious. And the king loved it.

He knew the hero was coming. The boy couldn't resist the beautiful princess, the girl whom cried furiously at the evil king. She had such spirit, such a fire, for one so wise and proud. The king could understand why the boy had fallen so hard.

And then came the day when the forest boy, now a young man, had appeared at the top of the tower; standing in the doorway, much taller than the king remembered, his eyes pooled with courage. And then he'd looked up to see the one his heart loved in her crystal casing; his face was distorted by rage. He'd attacked the evildoer, much stronger than the warlock had remembered. The battle was long and wearying, but in the end, the Blade of Evil's Bane was thrust into the wicked heart of the epitome of evil, and he was vanquished forever.

The tales of what happened after are not of much importance. The Queen of the land thanked him for his deeds, trying to explain her endless gratitude, but he told her it was nothing. After all, he'd done it all for her, though he couldn't find it within himself to tell her so. The moment lapsed into silence. This is the same for the young man's life afterward. He could not return home, so he roamed about the pleasant fields, now bright and rebuilt, but he could never get the beautiful princess out of his mind, or his mind out of his memories…

A few strands of her auburn hair were braided behind her head that day, her flowing tresses sashaying down her back. She was clothed in a formal, embroidered white gown, lining her fine figure as she slowly, gracefully, danced up the aisle. Her pale, snow-white fingers were folded gently in front of her, her innocent white arms long and beautiful at her sides. Her slender hands nestled a fresh bouquet of muted yellow flowers, and in the center, a single blue rose. Earlier, in the quiet and privacy of the woods, she'd whispered in his ear, her warm breath caressing the side of his neck. She'd told him that the rose was the same color as his eyes, and that was what it represented, because he would forever be her only.

If only, if only…

If only that were true.

Alas, the hero in the legend is I. All things have their time, and no one knows this better than I. I can't continue on like this; but I want to. I want to fight again. I want to soar across the land. I want to be victorious. I want to feel my enemy's spirit crushed beneath my blade. I want to _win._

But I can't.

This poison they have tapped inside of me, it is agonizing. It burns as I bleed, it surrounds my heart. It is pulsing through my veins even now, pushing the life-giving blood out through the gap in my side. It pulls at my consciousness, my sanity, and soon, I know, it will battle with my life.

I don't want this to spread to anyone else, as I know is very possible; and I wish I could warn them, if only I could speak. If only I could utter a word.

Oh, goddesses, what I would tell her if I could only work my voice. I would tell her how much I love her, how I've cherished her since I first laid eyes upon her. I would help her understand why I've never told her, and how much I regret it now – now that I am dying.

Some hope I'll pull through. I know others, such as my fellow swordsman, is desperately awaiting the news of my passing. I don't blame him. I can't find it in myself to.

Here, in this room, cold and white, I am chilled. An invisible wind batters my weakening bones, even as I blink my eyes wearily. Is there hope for me?

I can't tell you.

I'd like to believe it, but I'm not certain. Everything looks grim, gloomy, and dim; my eyesight is no different. I can focus on very few things now, except in my thoughts. I think of Zelda in my mind. I remember how beautiful she is. I marvel over the divine creation that she is, and I silently pray for her each and every day as I lie here, alone. I know she'll be alright.

I just wish I was with her.

I wonder distantly about Ike, hoping he had the strength to escape the castle. He's always been strong, but, I once considered myself strong also, before I was imprisoned there. I ponder if he let the secret go, the only thing that was important to them. I feel awful that Ike was tortured on my account, but glad that he never knew how they broke me. He'll never know, now. I wish I knew where he is – I could send help. I could fight for him. Ike is the only brother I've ever had, and if anything happened to him, I could not bear it. There is a certain bond that forms between two men when they lift their swords together in battle, striking back-to-back, fighting to bring down the common enemy.

Perhaps we shouldn't have slunk off into the night, but we knew we had to. None of the others were brave – or foolish – enough to steal back what we had lost, but Ike and I knew we could.

Did we succeed? I know I didn't. We were incarcerated before I could strike with my Blade of Evil's Bane, Ike with his divine sword. Then we were separated, and the weeks of torture, living Hell, began. I finally managed to escape, with the power of the Goddesses – Din's fire, Nayru's love, and Farore's wind – but I couldn't recover what we had been robbed of. I don't know if Ike made it out – oh, Nayru, please say he's alive – or if he could free it. I try not to think about our failed mission.

I shift exhaustedly on the operating table. I have been here ever since I came back, half-dead; even now, I am very barely alive. I feel it in my heart as the poison slowly seeps in. As soon as it conquers my source of life entirely, I shall be no more.

I don't know how to respond to that. Mostly I try to ignore it, but the visits of the living are making it difficult. They seem to glow before my fading eyes, bathed in the aura and colors of life, while mine slowly dwindles into nothing.

I'm only a legend now. I pray that a hero can follow in my stead – continue where I have failed. I am obviously not the hero of old, if I cannot bear this burden; I pray that the one who comes is. One will come, and I know this; I myself took up the sword of _my _hero of old.

Does this mean that _I _am the hero of old?

No, I can't be. Yet if every hero before the next _is _the hero of old, the elder must be the hero of old.

So who is the true hero?

I stare blankly above me, my mind boggled by this. Who is the true hero? Who is the one whom they have spoken of for ages, centuries, eons? His name is "hero of old"; but if what I just realized is correct, then that could refer to any hero older than the current one. So who was the _first _hero?

Could it be…perhaps it doesn't matter who the first hero was. Maybe all that matters is who the hero _now _is.

If _this _is true, than I truly am nothing but a legend.

Fear grasps at my heart now, stifling its beat for a moment or two; I gain back my choking breath and force myself to face the truth.

I am only a legend.

A tear almost escapes my eye, and I can't explain why. I think, possibly, it is the uncertainty of things, or, actually, lack thereof. I want to think that there may be hope – but I also know there is none. Hope is a spiteful sneer in the distance. Hope is not for me.

My time is coming. I feel it. I know it. My time is almost over.

An angel sits by my side. She has been there since I came back, and, truly, since I was a young hero. She is the only thing that I shall regret: I regret never having told her. If only I could speak…

She strokes my hand tenderly with her downy fingertips, her warm, alive palm clutching my limp one desperately. I know what she wants to believe. I want to persuade myself too. But I can't.

My heartbeat stutters again, and I feel that terrible poison sink deeper into its chambers. Her rose-soft hand pressures mine, and I feel rather than see her draw closer to me. I want her as close as possible. I am thankful no one else is here.

I muster my strength, my last reserves. This is the last time I will speak. This is my last act. I am the last hero. I am legend.

"Zelda…" I whisper, the breath in my lungs just giving me enough to say this. It hurts, and my throat constricts, but I don't care. For her I would do anything. I have.

A sharp, panicked sound escapes her lips. Her face is white as she leans over me, one hand across her chest to keep her silken locks at bay, the other tightening on my paling hand. I must look awful, especially to her, one so gorgeous. She seems to shine in my eyesight, bright with that aura of life, but also the glow of an angel…

I summon the last of myself. "I…love you."

Her mouth is open, her face shocked; yet it also lights up. Then it drops suddenly, as if the world is being pulled from under her.

My mouth is drying, salty, and the taste of death is sour. It is covering my body like a shroud, and we both know this. That dreaded feeling twists my stomach, like the sickness you get before you vomit, or when you're on the verge of hearing terrible news.

Abruptly I cannot feel my body. I am a lone soul, floating in limbo, suspended in nowhere.

I look at my love for the last time; it feels as though I'm not controlling my eyes. I can't bear the look of utter, raw terror and anguish in her eyes, her beautiful eyes. I want to return the pressure of her grip, but I cannot. I can't do anything.

I can only close my eyes as she leans down. Only the feeling of her lips on mine, my secret dream for as long as I can remember, returns me, for barely a second, to earth.

It is barely a second, but it is long enough.

Long enough for me to hear her final words to me, the words of a lover. In that split moment, my last, I understand that she knows I'll always love her.

And she'll always love me.

"Sleep well, Link…"

A/N: **Special thanks to Guessworks for giving me the courage to do this. I was really wondering, for quite some time, if I should kill him or not…and after I read her story, I had the courage to do so. I have to warn you guys, this means he's NOT coming back. I'm sorry. But I hate when authors bluff about that kind of thing. He's not coming back…**

**Wow, that chapter kinda took a toll on me. I apologize for the sucky beginning, but I wrote this completely **_**planned, **_**for once the first time. Whew, that was dramatic…I hope…I hope it wasn't cheesy…yeah…and it got really long…**

**Thanks too: JSparks! Yes, you were right;) Ike will be explained later. I'm glad you like the story!:D Lovingyourillusion: haha, yeah, good! It's my story, so YOU WILL ROLL WITH IKE'S ONE EYE. Actually I can't even remember where that idea came from…ChaoticXXHearts: HAHAHA, lol, NO, Ike's NOT from the moon. This time I honestly can't figure out where you came up with that. Yeah, it musta hurt…poor Ike…I'm so cruel…Oh, thanks! Glad you didn't think she was OOC. Oh yes, you definitely influcened some of this stuff…actually, this chapter too…way to go….Nope, you've got the prophecy wrong. It is very **_**specific. **_**It means everything it says, except yeah, you got one thing right. To Anyone: haha, I knew you'd like that. I enjoyed writing it, and that's why the chapter was so long. Oh, don't worry, you got it fine! Hehe, thanks! **

**I'm so glad you all reviewed! Gracias! I hit 20+ reviews in 5 chapters, not bad(: Review again, please, I hope you enjoyed! Until next time, which I have the next chapter planned, so it should be out tomorrow. Thanks for reading!**

**I gotta go watch the Bachelor. ~Araceli L**


	7. Numb

A/n: **Yeah...I can't believe I'm updating so fast...not much in this one, folks. Kinda one of those awkward pieces that needed writing. Uh, enjoy.**

_Last End: **Numb**_

There's a kind of numbness that overwhelms you when you hear bad news.

It starts in your chest – leisurely pulsating down, slowly climbing its way to the rest of your limbs. Your heart is aflame, sadistically being engulfed by increasingly furious flames –

It beats. It pounds. It struggles. It knows it only has a few beats left.

Then the startling sensation trickles to your stock-still appendages. Your legs are bent rigidly, your arms tensed and pulsing. You need something to do, something to attack, someone to blame, and your body is excited for it – the blood in your veins begins to race, overwhelmed with the absolute _need _to do _something _–

Then they shut down. You move no more.

Then it feeds on your senses. Your ears seem to be blocked, stuffed, or in denial. Sound has become thick and inseparable from the screams of your still-processing mind. Incoherent chunks of _something _are all that your ears can understand. But you don't want to know the rest.

Then your eyes are damaged. Fireworks explode daintily in front of your eyes, gently for something so chaotic. You can't describe how they taunt you. Then your vision fades away, replaced by flickering black darkness. You want to get away from the dark, but you cannot move.

Then the hammering that started in your heart makes it way down to your lungs, your heart's panicked and horrified beat ever-increasing. As the feeling seizes you around the middle, squeezing all the air out of your body, your heartbeat continues to soar – so fast you wonder how it is possible.

Then your lungs work no more, and live-giving breath will not pass through it again.

Then your mind is finally silenced. When it had first received the news, it had twitched and pushed it away, desperately endeavoring to disbelieve it. Part of the brain tried to force the other to accept it. The other side ignored the right one.

When the arguing sections had finally been forced to learn the fact, the mind had worked together as one to relentlessly bombard itself with the news, over and over. Your soul was pleading pathetically to stop being tortured, but the mind would not listen. So over and over you were forced to face the fact, while unexplainable and reasonable screams of agony wound like poison through you.

But then it is silenced. Not a sound comes from it. The only thing you can comprehend is your concluding, dire heartbeat.

And then it ends.

That awful feeling of absolutely _nothing _gravely covers you, softly like a veil and blinding like a shroud. There is nothing. There never was. There never will be.

_Nothing _is what you are. Nothing is all you were. Nothing is all you will be.

That wretched, desolate, inconsolable _nothing _is all your soul is trapped in, thrashing against what was once the truth. There is nothing there anymore. There was never anything.

All you once knew has vanished like yesterday's dawn. All you know now is there will be a sunset, and then an eternal night.

You know you cannot survive the perils of the midnight sun. You don't know how it is possible. You don't know the difference between impossible and possible anymore.

If everything was impossible, how had this happened?

Nothing has returned. There is nothing.

And this is all Zelda felt when she saw Link's last breath.

* * *

A/n: **Um...I'm sorry guys, I feel so out of it...I just learned that I lost the writing contest I sent my story into...it really sucks, hearing what you're so passionate for just isn't good enough...Anyway...**

**Thanks to: Anyone: oh, thanks. I'm glad you like how I portray Zelda; I'm just tired of everybody making her perfect. Hahaha well, I don't think I'm awesome...Here's your quick update! To PKLOVEOMEGA: Why, thank you. Haha. I'm so glad to get a new reviewer! To Guessworks: Of course you inspired me! Is that surprising? Aw, thanks. No, it definitely wasn't better, just longer:P Well, I hope someday to get published...that is, if I ever even write a novel...I'm more of a short-story person. I want to write one, though...Thanks for the birthday wishes! and to ChatoicXXHearts: I'm sorry! You're review made me feel sad:( But I'm glad you found it so moving. That's what I was aiming for! Oh, it's alright. Haha, still, whenever I go back and read that review I have to giggle. You got the prophecy HALF-WAY right. Oh, what you did? You gave me the idea to kill Link. Niiiiiiiice. ;)**

**I hope you enjoyed. Please Review.**

**~Araceli L**


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